First
by Staci'story
Summary: Jack and Ianto's first real kiss, followed by their first time together.


The rain pounds against the windows of the SUV, making the night darker in every sense of the word. Tonight has experienced too much sadness, and now even nature knows how terrible we all feel. I keep trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do, because it was the right thing to do, but the look on his face makes me wonder. With his head pressed against the window, looking out at the rain streaming down the glass, he can't see my eyes so full of pity, and I am glad.

I wouldn't let him find his own way home, he needed someone with him tonight. I'm not sure I should be the one here with him now though. Once at his flat, I wait for him to step out, but he doesn't seem to have realized we've stopped. Having no choice, I stop the car and walk around to help him out.

His flat is different than I would have ever expected. Clothes lay in unfolded, unmatched piles throughout the floor, and take-out boxes litter both the coffee and kitchen table. Not a dish in the flooded sink has been washed, and beer bottles surround the pane of the open window.

I don't say a word about any of this though, now is not the time for snide comments about his living habits contradicting his clothing. He stays standing at the door, even after I've closed it and moved further into the flat. He's so lost in his own thoughts that I don't know how I'm going to rescue him from his own mind yet.

"Go take a shower," I suggest, and his head snaps towards my voice, his first response in hours. "You need to clean up," I tell him, nodding to the blood smeared on his face and outfit. He gives a curt nod, but still doesn't move. "Fine," I mutter, leading him towards where I hope a bathroom to be.

I turn the water of the shower on, and start taking off his jacket and waistcoat, knowing they are the worst affected by the crimson stains. The steam starts to waft up the ceiling as I unbutton his shirt and pull the undershirt out of his pants. Lastly, I slide his belt out of the loops and hang it on the door handle. "Clean up," I command, and turn to leave the small, damp space.

Ten minutes later I return, hoping he has finally moved, and glad to see it when he has. I see the outline of his naked form through the frosted and steamed glass, but his slumped over posture supported by the wall tells me he still hasn't fully returned. I lay the bed shirt and sweat pants I found on the floor in what I suspected to be the clean pile, on the counter next to the sink.

Another ten minutes later, he walks out of the bathroom, stumbling over the threshold. I help him to the couch before going to look for a bottle of liquor stored in an unknown cabinet. All I can find are plastic cups, and those will have to do. I pour us each some scotch, but I leave his on the coffee table in front of him, not knowing if he's the type to drown his sorrows in alcohol or not.

He leans into me when I sit down, and I've barely had my arm wrapped around his shoulders before he starts to shake with the force of his sobs. I pull him closer, cradling his head on in my neck, and holding him so tightly.

"I'm sorry," he cries, "I'm so sorry. I—I didn't want it to come to this—I'm so sorry." He sucks in another breath of air before releasing new tears. "I miss her, I miss her so much—I loved her so much!"

"Don't apologize," I console, "love makes us do crazy things. But you have to understand, she wasn't herself anymore, she could never be human again, once the process starts, it's irreversible, that's the point. You know none of this is your fault," I lie, but wanting it so badly to be the truth. "I should have known about this, I should have known how to stop it before it started."

He wraps his arms around my waist, curling himself into me more. I want to push him away and leave, leave him to his sorrow, but I want even more to be here with him.

"I wish you let me die, die with her, it would be so much easier than this," he mutters, voice full of tears.

I run a hand down his back, not quite sure how to comfort him. "I've lost enough people to know that this feeling, whatever you're feeling—guilt, depression, anger, sadness, confusion—it passes. It takes time, trust me, I know, but it has always passed." He looks up at me with disbelief. "I never said it became any easier, but it passes, you learn to smile again, and even laugh. But you never forget, I remember everyone I've lost, everyone I've lost because of me."

"I want her back…."

"That will pass too," I lie again, no one can ever get past love. "Because you have to go on living, you have to go on stronger because of the wounds. I would know."

"How?" he asks, his voice hoarse and raw.

"You have to figure that out by yourself."

He tightens his arms around me, and I settle in, prepared to stay as long as he needs me to. But all too soon, he is asleep, his arms slackening and head dipping. I see the stains left and his cheeks, and I want them gone, but I know they are forever stained there. I tilt his head up slightly, and press my lips to his slowly, softly, wanting the kiss to mean more than it should.

"You'll be fine," I whisper, untangling myself and standing. Letting him lie where I was sitting, I thrown an afghan over his sleeping form. "You have to be."

He looks at me through blurry eyes as I turn to shut the door behind me.

"Bring the stopwatch," he demands, when he tells me to meet him in his office.

I simply smile at him, trying to act confident. Retreating to the archives, I begin to panic, turning in circles with my hands grabbing at my hair. I am thankfully out of sight of the CCTV. I don't want him to think I'm turning back, after all, I suggested the idea. How am I supposed to know what to do? It's not as if I'm inexperienced, just never done _this_ before. Searching for the cabinet of my personal use, I reach in the back of the drawer and pull out the bottle of whiskey, swallowing it so fast it runs down my cheeks. I let the first gulp settle in my stomach before I let another seven follow.

I might as well have the confidence to continue, even if alcohol induced.

I loosen my tie and unbutton my waistcoat before heading back up to his office and pulling the stopwatch out of my pocket.

"About time," he laughs, his braces already off his shoulders and top few shirt buttons undone.

The curve of his neck draws me in, and I stare, wondering what I could possibly do to that spot of him once we've started.

He steps towards me, closer than I find comfortable, but I still don't want him to back up. He takes the stopwatch from my hand slowly, peeling my fingers back one at a time. Both of us look down at it as he starts it, and places it on his desk.

He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in harshly, claiming my mouth as his own. I gasp in surprise.

"What, you don't…?" he asks, unsure now, as he pulls back.

I swallow and shake my head. "No, I do…."

That's all he needs from me before he pulls me back in, his fingers curving possessively around my throat. I moan, loving when his tongue curls around mine, his heat taking over my body. My hands ghost over his body, not quite sure what to do yet. Finally, I grab his waist, running my hands up, slowly sliding my fingers over his ribs.

He pushes me into the bookcase next to his desk, the shelves cutting into my shoulders, waist, and calves. Hands travel down my body, untucking my shirt and pushing it off with my along waistcoat. I cringe, more from the cool air than his touch, but he doesn't know this.

He pulls back. "You have to want this, otherwise it's not going to work." I nod. "Tell me, do you want it?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice shaking. "I'm sure," I lie, but he doesn't have to know that.

"There's no turning back if we continue…," he warns. I start unbuttoning his shirt to confirm my wants.

Attacking my neck, he starts on my pants as I try lifting his shirt over his head. He won't stop licking, biting, and kissing long enough for me to finish though, so I start, with unsteady, shaking hands, on his trousers.

_No underware_, I note, knowing I should have known.

But before I can be concerned with that, he kneels down in front of me, his breath slipping over my naked front. I feel the warmth on my abdomen, trying to focus on that as he works on pulling my trousers down. Bracing myself on the bookcase, I moan too loudly when he kisses my hip, his hands busied sliding my pants down my thighs.

My eyes snap open and I yelp when I feel his mouth surrounds me. I buck my hips involuntarily, but he doesn't want that, so he pushes them into the bookcase. Grabbing a hold of a shelf, I try not to collapse from the sheer pleasure his tongue is giving me.

Swirling, sucking, humming, thrusting, blowing, swallowing.

Right when I'm about to give myself over to the pleasures, he stands up, too soon, and bruises my lips with his own.

Turning us around, he forces me up against the edge of his desk, the wood side cutting into my thighs deliciously. I scrape my nails down his back, wanting him closer than I've ever wanted anyone before. This is not love, this is not even lust or need— this is want. I want this more than anything else. His mouth moves over my face, nipping at my jaw, licking down my neck, and biting my shoulder.

"Turn around," he whispers, grabbing my hips and forcing me to.

I bend over the desk, my palms flat to the wood, and my thighs pressed flush against the wood as they spread apart. He reaches one arm around, pressing it to my abdomen, and the other begins looking for the lube. I hear the lid snap as it opens, and then feel the oil being poured on my lower back as it leads a trail down in between my buttocks. The drip of the liquid hitting the floor seems too loud. It's then that I realize neither one of us is breathing.

I break the silence with a moan when I feel his fingers entering me. The pain isn't what I imagined, not even close, but it hurts none the less. I try to muffle my gasps in the papers I'm lying on, but even to my ears I seem foolish. This is supposed to hurt, but the pain only makes the pleasure so much better in the end.

"Breathe," he suggests demandingly. As I let out a large breath, I feel another finger enter, and immediately inhale again.

Trying to ride with the motions, I start thrusting my hips, wanting him in me so much. I cannot believe how shortly this has all come about and yet how strongly I feel about all of it.

"Don't move," he demands. And I obey, even as fear takes over me when I feel him pressed up, about to enter me. Even when the pain burns, and my instincts tell me to push him away. Even when I push past the pain and want to pull him in deeper. I don't move.

I feel his hips pressed against me finally, and I let out a sigh of relief, letting my body relax against the desk for a moment.

He doesn't give me that moment though, because all the sudden he's pulling back out, sucking my insides out with him. And it feels so wonderfully amazing I never want it to stop. But it does, only to be replaced by him filling me once again, and hitting that spot inside me, stars bursting behind my eyelids. I grab at the papers but my hands continue to search for momentum to trust back. I need to feel that again.

Stars.

And I moan appreciatively. He pulls me up, wrapping his arms around my chest and thrusting even harder. His hands go to my throat, once again possessively stroking it, as his lips move over my back and shoulders. I wish I could kiss him, feel another part of him inside me, and taste his taste on my tongue again. For now, all I can do is roll with the waves of pleasure taking control of my body, making it act erratic.

I take a second to breathe, and finally notice he's making sounds too, moaning in pleasure so loudly I can't imagine how I didn't hear it before.

I need release now, his voice sending me so close to the edge. I grab myself, and start stroking hard and fast, not caring if it's going to be over, only wanting the pleasure.

"No," he says suddenly, grabbing my hands and forcing my palms back to the desk's surface, lacing his fingers through mine. "I want you to cum from me alone," he demands, he breathing shallow. I feel chest slick with sweat against my back. "Come on, I know you can do this, you want it as badly as I do." With that said, he picks up his pace, and grabbing my hips, starts thrusting relentlessly. Pounding me harder and harder, into the desk, onto him, he exchanges his words for harsh moans.

I focus on the stars, every time he hits now, stars. And then, I go blind as I shout out in release, my hips thrusting out disjointedly.

He slumps against my back, as he loses himself too. I sigh, feeling him filling me.

I start to slide down to the floor, my legs turning into clay. He follows suit as he pulls out. I turn slowly, and I feel his lips on me, searching for my own. Suddenly, they are crushed together with heat and passion, his taste overwhelming me to the point of madness. I have to pull off so I can control my breathing. But he pulls me back, trying to comfort me with kisses, both of us knowing that will never work though. Comfort is not what I wanted.

I wanted _this_ so much.


End file.
